


The Sultry Siren

by UraharaSteph



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: A lot of setting up, Alcohol, Bad Flirting, Blow Jobs, Emotions, F/M, Female Reader, Flirting, Older Man/Younger Woman, One Night Stands, Porn With Plot, Post-Canon, Reader-Insert, Sex, Stan and Ford are sailing the world, Stan is a sweetheart, There are no sirens, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, no betas we die like men, you - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:42:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25811524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UraharaSteph/pseuds/UraharaSteph
Summary: Stan and Ford grab a drink at a bar on the docks.Knowing you're out of his league, Stan decides it's safe to flirt.It's not like it'll go anywhere...
Relationships: Stan Pines & Ford Pines, Stan Pines/Reader, Stan Pines/You, Stanley Pines/Reader, grunkle stan/reader
Comments: 29
Kudos: 133





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The heavier stuff comes in Chapter 2, but things progress here as well. 
> 
> This was originally going to be 1 chapter, but I have decided to split it in two halves because it's getting a little long.

A buffer of smoke moved in the air, twisting into gentle grey waves reminiscent of the ocean out front. Dark beams of thinning wood ran across the decaying ceiling, which threatened to collapse each storm. An array of nautical ornaments adorned the murky walls; fishnets, anchors, knotted ropes and taxidermy fish. Conversation prompts at the best of times but mostly background noise that went ignored.

Stan breathed in, relishing the mix of tobacco and saltwater with accents of sweat and ale. The deep decibel of chatter was intermittently broken by the raucous laughter of seasoned sailors. This was a man's tavern, trapped in a time capsule refusing to progress.

He'd picked this place thanks to the topless mermaid on the sign swinging outside. _The Sultry Siren_ , which after reading, spurred Ford on to rant about how mermaids and sirens aren't the same thing. That pop-culture had massacred two captivating species by making them an unflattering hybrid.

There was a time, Stan remembered, when these sorts of tough-as-nails bars would intimidate Ford. Burly men with an intolerance of twelve fingers usually appointed themselves as gatekeepers of such establishments. Now, after dimension hopping as an outlaw, Ford sauntered in like he owned the place. It made Stan's chest swell with pride, but his stomach churned at the thought of losing the Alpha-twin status.

They parked themselves at the bar. Both of them drummed their fingers against the chestnut top, Ford's hand added an extra beat. Stan eyed the taps. Barely any of them were labelled. This meant he was either going to get fucked-up on the cheap house-special or chuck up pig swill. Fingers crossed for the former.

“Stanley,” Ford placed a large hand on his brother's shoulder as though he could read his mind. “We're only stopping for one drink. We set sail early tomorrow. I'd _like_ for you to be in an operational state.”

Stan scoffed. “Yeah, yeah Poindexter. I’ll drink in moderation.” Lies came too easily to his lips. Sometimes it scared him.

He sought out the barman- bar _maid_ , and faltered when waving her over. She stood out like a sore thumb; far too beautiful for the grungy backdrop of a port bar. Stan swallowed thickly.

He watched you fill up a lone man's tankard. You laughed politely at whatever the punter had slurred out and muttered something back with a wink. Stan cleared his throat and attempted to wave you over again.

“Hey, miss,”

Your eyes caught his and all he could offer was a crooked smile. You wrapped up serving the lone man and walked to the twins, wiping a cloth over the counter as you went.

“What can I get for you, gentlemen?”

Stan's eyes flicked to your breasts bulging out of your white blouse, accentuated by the burgundy under-bust corset. Was it in your contract to dress like a pirate? Probably; it looked like a uniform of sorts.

Seeing Stan ogle you, Ford swiftly ordered first. “I'll have a Guinness, and my brother will have,”

“Sex on the beach,”

You blinked. “Sorry sir, we don't serve cocktails here,”

“S’alright, I wasn't ordering one.” He propped an elbow on the counter and rested his chin in his hand.

You tried to conceal your smile but Stan saw it, and by gods did his heart hold on to it. “You strike me as a house-ale kind of guy.”

“Heh, am I that easy to read?”

Your mouth rose at the corner and you went about pulling the drinks, starting with the Guinness. Stan watched your movements a bit too obviously.

Something jabbed him in the ribs. Hard. His brain worked quick stop the instinctive punch, realising it was only his brother's elbow.

“Ow, what's that for?!”

Ford gestured to quieten down and they both ducked closer to each other, voices dropping to whispers. “You're acting like a pervert.”

“Hey, I resent that! I was being... charming?” The weight in Stan's stomach knew otherwise. His eyes must have felt hot and sticky on you; a repulsive old man not even trying to be inconspicuous.

“A bit of light-hearted flirting is fine, but for God's sake Stanley, you're old enough to be her father and leering at her like a predator.” Ford’s brows were furrowed and Stan returned the glare.

“Eh, she's prob'ly used to worse, working in a place like this.”

“That's irrelevant.” Ford straightened up when you came back and set the pints in front of them. “Thank you, dear.” He fished around his wallet for the right change. The price of drinks were startling these days.

Stan raised his glass to you. “Thanks sweetheart,” He tested it, letting the bitter sweetness trickle down his throat. He licked his top lip. Then took a second gulp, ending it with a refreshed sigh and setting down the glass heavily. “That's good stuff for a house brew.”

You leaned on the counter, giving Stan a direct eyeful of cleavage. He shot an awkward glance at Ford who kept his eyes trained on your face; but only just.

“My boss’ll be pleased to hear that.” No customers needed service, so you thought you'd talk to the twins for a while. Anything to earn some extra tips and these two were... _alluring_. “So, sailors?”

“That, and explorers.” Ford explained.

“Have you been doing this all your lives, or are you both retired and decided to see the world?”

Stan shared a questionable look with his brother. Not quite telepathic, but on the same wavelength, they silently decided to roll with the retirement excuse.

“Yeah,” Stan started. “I've always fancied seeing the world, finding all sorts of treasures and babes. Figured a guy's never too old for that, ha!”

You gazed at Stan through your lashes. “Had much luck?”

Stan idly wiped the condensation off the base of his glass. “With treasure? Nah. With babes? Jury's still out on that one.” A suggestive tone that he knew won Ford's disapproval, but he couldn't help himself. It'd been a while since he saw a pretty face that wasn't attached to animal parts.

You played with the hem of your blouse, deliberately drawing Stan's eyes back into the valley. “Well, you're a couple of silver foxes. I'm sure you could get any woman you wanted.”

Ford cleared his throat. “Yes, well. I think I will go and grab us a table, Stanley.”

“Sure thing, Sixer. I'll be over in a minute.” Stan never took his eyes away from you, even as he sipped his drink.

Once Ford had blended in with the rest of the punters, Stan noticed that you had inched closer. “So your name's _Stanley_?”

A shudder ran down his spine hearing his name roll off your tongue. “Yeah. Remember it, you'll be screaming it later.”

“Ha. In a good way, I hope?”

Stan just grinned. After another slurp of ale, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. This was getting interesting. “You got a name?”

“It's against company policy for me to tell you. For my own safety, you know?”

Stan grunted. “We'll stick with Sweetheart then.”

“Thanks for understanding, _Stanley_.”

A part of him wanted to correct you; to say it was fine to just call him 'Stan'. The rest of him liked it. He never knew he enjoyed being the older man so much. However, his insecurities reminded him often that you were out of his league. That you flirted for tips that he was too stingy to give. Oh well; he could enjoy the view and flirtatious banter.

“I'm guessin' you don't drink while working either?”

“Depends what the drink is.”

“What'd be strong enough to getcha seeing me as a stud?” Stan muttered with a hushed chuckle.

Your faces were now mere inches from each other. You leaned in further, on the tips of your toes to get over the counter. Your lips hovered by his ear. Hot breath fell onto his stubble and Stan's skin prickled. Your voice was like honey dripping into his ear and it took a moment for Stan to register you had actually said something.

“A coke.”

Stan's eyes widened. He reclined on his stool, belting out a hearty laugh. He pointed a thick finger at you. “Ooh, you're good at this.”

You straightened up, the everlasting smug smirk still on your lips. “I get a lot of practice.”

“Heh,” Stan rubbed the back of his neck. God he wished this could go somewhere. Perhaps it was time to wrap up his fun, before he got too into it. “I better join my brother at the table.”

“I wouldn't if I were you.” Your eyes gestured to Ford. He had acquired a lady friend. He was laughing. And blushing. And she had her hand on his thigh.

“That sonuvabitch!” Stan was supposed to shout that in his mind, but blurted it out on accident. There was a bubbling jealousy in his gut. Ford won at everything.

Stan turned to you. “Don't suppose you want to _actually_ sleep with me to one-up my brother, do ya? You're far hotter than that leathery old broad.”

“That's my mother.”

“Oh shit, I-"

You slapped the cleaning rag against his bicep. “I'm just fucking with you. She's a regular. A widow I think. Tends to prey on hot sailors.”

Stan visibly relaxed. You had a sense of humour; that was nice. You were nice. If he had been younger, Stan would have made an honest pass at you. A persistent one at that.

You slung the cloth over your shoulder and Stan watched Ford's interactions a little longer. He was enjoying himself and didn't need Stan to be a third wheel. Stan downed the rest of his ale and shook the glass at you. “Same again, Sweetheart.”

You worked the shaft of the tap before pulling.

~*~

One drink had turned into five. Two and a half for Ford. _Hypocrite_.

You had to continue serving throughout the night, but any lull in business saw you come back to Stan. He told you tales of travels and jails. Mythical creatures and straight up weirdness. You laughed at the more far-fetched stuff and sympathised when he skirted around the fights and conflicts of his life.

You must have heard hundreds of life stories while working at the docks but none quite like Stan's. You encouraged him eagerly, genuinely intrigued and Stan gladly kept talking. For the first time in a long time, Stan felt truly wanted.

The Last Orders bell attracted the usual rush. People pushing to get one more round in; maybe even buy two to stretch the night out. Stan sat alone, enjoying the last of his ale. He was tipsy, but not drunk. Years of abusing his body rendered it numb to alcohol. Still, he didn't want to push it.

When it came to kicking out time, the woman with Ford slipped him a peace of paper with a wink. He politely pocketed it and bid her farewell before joining his brother at the bar.

“Ready to go, Stanley?”

“Er, you're not going back with Leather Face over there?”

“She gave me her telephone number. Completely useless out on the sea, but it was enough for me. I am a gentleman after all. The next time we sail this way, I shall chase her up.”

You chuckled. “Poor woman.”

Ford rose an inquisitive, bushy brow. “What do you mean?”

“She's always looking for one last fling. When you're her age, there isn't really time to wait for a 'gentleman'. I would have went for it, if I were you.” You collected Stan's empty glass and took it to the sink.

“Well,” Ford was pissed off. “You're not me, so your input on the situation is quite irrelevant. Come on, Stanley.”

Stan groaned. He didn't want to leave you. You had been a great comfort to him throughout the night and the flirting was fun. More than fun. It was easier to relax and say out-right filthy things when he knew he wasn't going to get anywhere with you.

A screech pierced your ears as Stan's stool scratched the floor. He dug his hands into his pockets, slumped forward and gave you a weak smile. “Guess you're finally free of me, sugar tits.”

You reached over the bar and pinched his coat's sleeve. “Fancy a lock-in?”

“What?” Stan surveyed the drunken patrons stumbling out of the door. “With this sad lot?”

“No, just us.” You were completely focused on Stan. Was Ford not invited to this?

“Er, why? Surely I've been borin' ya?”

A wry grin graced your lips; almost sadistic. “Quite the opposite. One more drink. On the house.” You let go of his clothes. “It's up to you though,”

Stan checked with Ford who shrugged. He didn't seem to care either way, but the seriousness in his eyes said _'Just remember we set sail first thing in the morning.'_

“Ya not gonna try anythin' funny, are ya?” Stan laughed as he sat back down.

“Nothing that you wouldn't like.”

Ford walked with you to the door. Only the three of you remained in the building now. He gently touched your shoulder and turned you away from Stan. The wind had picked up outside. With the door held open, ocean spray stuck to your face and speckled Ford's glasses.

“I'll be waiting up for him,” Ford warned. “Please ensure that he gets to our boat safely.”

“You can count on me-”

“I don't know what your intentions are with my brother, but I do not trust them or you. If anything happens to him-”

“Chill out. I just plan to have a drink with him now I'm off the clock.”

Ford's grip tightened then relaxed. He sighed but overall appeared to have resigned. He patted your arm. “Have a good evening, Miss.”

“You too, Sir.”

You ushered Stanford out into the choppy winds, closed the door and bolted it. You strolled back to Stan who watched nervously.

His eyes flitted up and down your body and he tugged at his collar. “Er, so, about that free drink?”

You happily poured another ale and got a drink for yourself. You took the stool next to Stan and shifted to face each other, knees touching. You both raised your glasses then took a hearty sip.

Stan rubbed the thick stubble on his chin. “Wasn't expecting to be alone with you. It's nice though. Can _finally_ hear myself think without everyone else's babblin'.” Which meant he could hear all the insecurities in his head.

You could hear his gravely voice perfectly now. It added to his appeal in a gruff way. “So,” You subconsciously licked the corner of your mouth. “Is that offer still on the table?”

“Ahaha... er, what offer?”

“The one-upping your brother offer.”

“The... Wha- oh. OH.” Stan shuffled backwards and cleared his throat. “I was jus' joking 'bout that.”

“Aw, really?” You pursed your lips and batted your eyelids.

“Ha,” Stan could feel the sweat beading on the nape of his neck. He rubbed it into his skin. “I mean, you're gorgeous. Stunning. I'd probably 'ave an heart attack if you took your clothes off!” He chortled, still convinced that this was part of the banter.

The liquid in your glass sloshed from side to side as you turned the cup. “Then I'd have to give you mouth-to-mouth.”

“Nah, with my bad breath you'd sooner let me die.” Stan's laughter faded to a polite chuckle.

“You have bad breath?” You lurched forward and put your face right in front of his. Stan tried to jerk back out of a mixture of surprise and self-consciousness, but you caught the collar of his jacket and held him in place. Your lips hovered over his and your eyes locked with his widened ones. “All I can smell is liquor and I'm quite used to that.” You didn't move away.

Stan's heart trembled in his chest. He could feel his pulse in his ears and static in his finger tips. He closed his mouth and kept his eyes on yours. Stan concentrated on slow, regulated breaths. You were close, _so_ close, but he could never make the first move. You were just teasing him, right? Getting a kick out of stringing along a dirty old man.

“Listen, Sweetheart, I-” His hand rested on top of yours, the one still on his jacket. “I don't want to play games.”

“I don't either.” You tilted your head and carefully closed the gap.

When your lips gently touched upon his, Stan's heart may have literally skipped a beat. You closed your eyes but he continued to stare in utter disbelief. His free hand subtly pinched his thigh to make sure this wasn't a dream.

When he didn't react you pulled away. “Stanley? I'm sorry, I thought you wanted the same-”

He cut your words off with another kiss. There was no way he was going to let this moment slip by. He pushed your hand against his chest and squeezed your fingers. His other hand, calloused and cut, rose to cup your face. He was exceptionally tender as though fearing his touch would taint you.

His coarse stubble nipped at your lips, but you were too busy savouring Stan's flavour to notice. When you opened your mouth to lick his, Stan's hand moved along the curve of your ear and down to lightly hold the side of your neck. He allowed the kiss to deepen and met your tongue with his own.

Stan stopped for air but a string of saliva endured to connect you. He settled his forehead against yours. “Wow.” The string broke. “Hey, erm, those cameras aren't on, are they?” He signalled to one of the corners.

“They're just for show.” You reassured.

A devious smirk lit up Stan's face. “Good.” Then the snogging continued, coercing you to the edge of your seat.

You spread your fingers across his chest. The past year of sailing and battling for his life against murderous monsters was recovering his body's lost shape; but he was still soft and cushiony. You worked the coat off his shoulders and Stan let it drop to the floor.

Stan caressed your neck and tugged you forward, stealing you off the stool. You stepped into him, nestling your frame between his legs and rising onto the tips of your toes to keep the kiss connected.

A gruff grunt ran over your tongue as your body pressed against his crotch. Stan left a trail of kisses across your cheek and whispered into your ear. “How far did you want this to go?”

“As far as it can.” You purred and felt his dick twitch.

Apparently he could go all the way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! This hasn't properly been proofread, so if you get another update on this in the future, it'll just be me correcting some of it.
> 
> I just want to point out that this piece has unprotected sex in it - That's because this is an erotic fantasy. Make sure you stay safe out there in the real world, please!

Stan shifted to massage your scalp and force your lips back to his. He subconsciously gripped at your hair, a dark part of his heart not wanting to give you a chance to escape or change your mind.

His hand ran down your back until he could grab your arse. He exhaled into your mouth and squeezed harder, enjoying the way your ass filled his palm. You whimpered in delight.

You tugged at the rim of his shirt, struggling to pull it up while being so close. Your feeble attempt didn't cut it for the eager Stanley and he stopped fondling you so he could rip if off himself. He didn't let you get a glimpse of him, thanks to the mix of self-consciousness and raw desire to hold you against his flesh.

Instead, you explored the tangle of chest hair while Stan's tongue was back down your throat. He fumbled off the barstool and it clattered to the ground. **THUD!** The moment you jumped at the sound, Stan began to kiss your neck. The gentle pecks turned into needy nips as he craved your body. He bit, licked and sucked until he stumbled across your sweet spot.

You let out a breathy moan and rubbed your thighs together. You couldn't ignore the heat burning between your legs, aching for Stanley.

Stan huffed. “Fuck, don't do that...” He nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

“Hm?” One of your hands fondled the golden chain around his neck, the other combed through his silver hair. “Something wrong?”

“You'll make me cum if ya moan like that.” He suckled your neck again and you couldn't help it; another moan slipped out.

“Mm.” Stan caught your lips with his, swallowing your delicious noises. He clutched your thighs and hoisted you up. He directed your legs around his waist.

With some clumsy steps, he lay you atop one of the tables. The energy in your pants aligned with the growing bulge in his. Stan gazed down at your body. He watched your chest rise and fall with each animated breath.

You wanted him.

Stan smiled; genuine and grateful. He nervously unhooked the front of your corset. The tiny clasps were no problem for an expert pick-pocket like him. He was more deft at getting you out of the uniform than you were. With it discarded, you could breathe even easier.

Stan tentatively pressed the wrinkled blouse on your stomach. He bit his lip then moved up to your breasts. “God,” His erection pulsed. He wanted you out of that damn bra... in time. For now, he continued to grope your boobs, pinching your nipples through the plush material.

You kept your legs wrapped around him and pulled his hips against you. Your hand couldn't reach his crotch, so you resorted to rubbing your clothed pussy against him instead. He grumbled, but it was teasing you just as much as him.

Stan slid his palms under your shirt. You quivered at the rough skin on your soft sides. He tilted you forward to get to the clasp of your bra. One hand was all he needed to release you. You were on your back again, pinned down by his hands under the cups massaging your breasts. He clamped your nipples between his fingers.

“ _Stanley_ ,”

It was so _fucking_ good to be called that after decades of lying.

Your blouse was torn off fairly soon after. Exposed to the chill in the air, Stan pressed himself against you, tongue roaming your mouth, arms cradling you against his chest. He was so hot; physically and metaphorically. You melted into his embrace.

Stan kissed along your collarbone, then moved down to between your breasts. He grunted when you gripped his hair and guided him to your left tit. He grabbed it with his hand then flicked the tip of his tongue against your nipple. You arched your back, craving more.

He introduced his teeth. They felt so sharp against your sensitive, hard nub. His tongue gently lapped but his teeth kept biting down, balancing you on the threshold between pain and pleasure. His lips sealed around your nipple and he licked it and kissed it better.

Then moved to the other.

While his mouth worked its magic on the right breast, his thumb drew circles on the other nipple, making sure not to neglect it while it grew cold. You huddled forward and bit into Stan's shoulder. Your nails scraped at his back but not too harsh. You kicked off your own boots, struggling to make your toes meet your heels around the width of Stan, but you managed it.

“Ya sure you can handle me?” Stan cooed while already unbuttoning your pants.

“I think I can just about fit all of you inside.” You smirked and your hand reached down to rub the thickness beneath his trousers.

“Heh, Sweetheart, you're killin' me,”

He shuddered and his thumbs lost themselves for a moment. Stan peeled your trousers off, taking your panties with them. You fought off the automatic urge to hold on to your underwear and let him take them off.

All of your clothes were scattered around the tavern. Your bare arse was sat on the thoroughly polished tabletop. Stan leaned back to take in the sight. You felt vulnerable under his aggressive stare. He wasn't even touching you, but you could feel his eyes absorb every detail of your body; splayed out ready for him to caress, lick, kiss, pound.

When he didn't move, you started to coil up on yourself, closing your legs. Stan stopped your knees and pried you open again. “You're fucking beautiful. I, er, I don't think I deserve this-”

“I need you in me.”

“... can't argue with that.” With a happy shrug of his shoulders, Stan dropped to his knees. He carefully rubbed your thighs; his fingers tracing various shaped over your skin. His breath tricked over your trembling sex; damp at the mere thought of Stan tasting you. “I'm, heh, a bit rusty.” The base in his voice hit between your legs.

Despite Stan's claim, when his tongue flattened against your entrance and slowly licked, a sensation rushed to your head and dizzied your senses. He savoured you, swallowed your juices and tended to every crease of your core. He made sure each taste bud could be blessed by your flavour, and his tongue was so large that you swore it covered your entire pussy _and_ reached your crack, though he wasn't aiming for it.

His beefy fingers opened you to allow his tongue to plunge into your slit. It curled up inside and with a fistful of his hair, you pushed his face further into you. He chuckled and took his mouth to your clitoris. Stan kissed it, then flicked it with a finger before using his tongue.

The idle finger didn't stay idle for long. He eased one digit into your soaked cunt. You mewed. Your clit was at his mercy, of which he showed none. The noises you made spurred him on, fuelled him and encouraged him to work another finger into you. You could feel the pressure on your walls as your body tried to accommodate him. Stan's warmth reached up to your throat and you knew his expert touch was making you blush and giddy.

Your thighs twitched on his shoulders. Stan gained speed; his movement grew sloppy but still effective. Your body clenched, holding back the thrill that wanted to gush out of you. _Not yet. Not yet._ There was no way you could release yet. Stan's tongue was Godly and his thick fingers were-

Oh God. Here came the third finger. It could barely fit in you. His hair knotted around your fingers as you writhed in ecstasy. The cold gold chain heated up against your thighs. Stan's tongue continued relentlessly, as did his hand. He grunted into your cunt; pleased with how you lightly thrashed.

You grabbed the edge of the table with one hand and held his head down with the other. “Ah~ Ah-Stanley, d-don't-” The explosion happened. You nearly crushed him between your legs as your orgasm swamped every sense. Your fingertips tingled, your muscles twitched and Stan just kept going without breath.

Each lick sent another shock wave through your body. He curled his fingers and pressed your G-spot. The elation mounted in your cervix made you think you were going to squirt. As the pressure built, you begged for such a release.

You didn't squirt, but the dam broke a second time and another orgasm chased after the first. You pulled his hair and felt Stan's smile against your southern lips. You squealed in joy until the overwhelming sensations eventually faded into sensitive, tired spasms.

You panted and lay spent on the table, sweaty and tingling. Stan stood up, ignoring the ache in his back and knees. His thumb swiped across his lips, collecting the remnants of your orgasm. He licked it up.

“Rusty, you said...” You managed, your voice hiding in the back of your throat.

Stan grinned like he was the king of the world “Eh, I liked to sell myself short. Makes it even better when you cum on my face.” In actuality, Stan was in awe at his own performance. With a skip in his step, he went to retrieve his shirt.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, where are you going?” You reached out for his bulky arm and stopped him. “I haven't eaten yet,”

“Oh, er, you don't have to...”

You didn't grace that with a retort. Instead, you staggered off the table and pulled down his heavy trousers. The red, hot head of his circumcised cock peeked out of the slit in his blue boxers. His face flushed crimson, reaching to his ears. He had no problem feasting on your naked body, but having you just _look_ at him was a different kettle of fish.

You clawed at Stan's boxers and took them down to his ankles. His erection bounced. You licked your lips before tasting the head. Stan tilted his head back and inhaled sharply. “Mmm.” His hand stroked your head, rewarding your delicacy.

Stan had an eager dick, weighty and thick, and it had been neglected for far too long. As you slowly sealed your lips around his twitching manhood, he automatically pushed his hips forward. Your mouth curled into a smile around him. Your tongue ran along the shaft as you pulled yourself off.

“Someone's eager,” You muttered, kissing the leaking head, sipping the precum.

“Heh, can you blame me Sweetheart? Even the babes in my dreams ain’t as good as you.” Stan's fingers continued to draw phantom circles on your skin. Gentle and soft motions contrasting his raging, desperate hard on.

“I haven’t done anything yet.” Your lips grazed over his cock, your breath hot and welcoming.

“And I already feel like I'm gonna blow, heh,”

“Don't.” You gave him a very serious glare from down on your knees. “Not until you fuck me.”

Stan fiddled with his gold medallion. He was nervous at that prospect. Entering between your legs was-

Whatever he was thinking was lost as his dick hit the back of your throat. He reached behind and grabbed the back of a chair to steady himself. His knuckles turned white as he held on for dear life. Your head bobbed slowly and Stan nearly lost control of himself right there and then and the sight of you sucking his dick.

Saliva dribbled down to the base and onto his balls. You cupped them gently as you found a good rhythm that dragged tiny groans and whimpering ‘fuck's out of Stan.

He hummed when you traced the wrinkles of his ballsack.

Stan wanted to hold your head down. Wanted to push as deep as he could go; make you gag on his cock and scratch at his thighs breathlessly. Alas, if Stan dared release his grip on the chair he feared he'd nut. So he didn't touch you. He rocked into you and murmured timid commands like ‘deeper’ and ‘take it'.

You obeyed. Pleasuring him rewarded you with such a blissful expression on his rugged face. You continued to work hard: sucking, licking, stroking, fondling. At one point he requested teeth, but changed his mind after a yelp and proclamation of _’Nope. That's not for me.’_. You had been gentle of course, but kissed him better regardless and stuck to a fairly vanilla blow job.

When his cock began to pulse, his finger and thumb caught your chin. Stan casually slid you off his cock and gazed into your eyes. The tip of your tongue collected the bead of nectar from the urethra.

He stood you up and wrapped an arm around your waist. Breasts pressed against his hairy chest. God he was so _warm_. Stan was a fortress of sex and comfort. For a moment you just wanted to lie down somewhere and have him hold you until you drifted off, but your excited body wanted more than a cuddle.

Stan kissed you. Savoured you. You nibbled his lip and his dick prodded you.

He couldn't go far with his trousers around his ankles, so he threw the chair out of the way and bent you over the table, your ass in the air. One hand on your back pinned you to the surface, the other stroked your pussy. His thumb traced your ass-crack and probed your asshole but didn't enter. Your hole throbbed and your nipples hardened. Stan's fingers tested the waters of your hot, tight womanhood. With how easily his fat fingers slipped into you, he knew you were ready to take his length.

Stanley kept his thumb on your asshole, maintaining its trembling pulse. The pressure on your back was released as Stan guided the head of his cock to your cunt. You could feel the tip brush your moist folds before he hesitated.

“Are ya sure you want-"

“Just fuck me Stanley!”

He smirked.

Finally he eased himself into you. You closed your eyes and sighed in delighted relief as Stan's erection filled you up. You held yourself off the table and Stan took advantage of the angle. You felt his balls dangle between your thighs; he was all the way inside. Thank fuck! You don't reckon you could have handled another inch.

Stan licked his fingers before his hands roamed to your front. He reached across and cupped a breast, fondling it before pinching and tweaking the nipple. His other arm had wrapped around your waist so he could reach your clit.

His wet middle finger stimulated your clitoris while his dick throbbed inside your cunt. He squeezed your nipple. Your pussy tightened. Stan held you against him, his chest touched your back while his arms cradled you and nimble fingers pleasured you. He kissed your neck; you were delectable, irresistible and Stan was sure he was going to wake up from this dream at any moment.

His cock retreated. Only to slowly, painfully slowly, penetrate you again. You moaned and rocked against his teasing and cautious movements. You wanted him to fuck your brains out, but this was nice. He wasn't rushing. He was building you up and he _loved_ being in control.

Stan continued to artistically trigger your clit. He slathered his fingers in spit to keep you soaked. Stan's cock pumped into you faster, hoarding your juices for itself, stuffing you full.

You clung to the table and it creaked and wobbled under the sex. Stan tried to keep you close, hugging you, squeezing and flicking his fingertip against the button between your legs. After his thrusts found power and depth, his precision blundered into sloppy, eager drives.

He grabbed your hips instead and arched back. He pulled you onto his solid cock every time he pushed himself deep inside of you. Your bodies clapped together and you lay yourself against the table to control your breasts.

Stan dug his fingers in and left red marks. You didn't care. You were loving every second of it; screaming his name as your pussy gripped him. You were so wet that you dripped on the floor every time his cock almost pulled out.

Stan closed his eyes and held his breath but he didn't falter. There was a reason he had you face down; if he looked into your eyes it'd all be over far too early. Heck, he was already close and every damn time you screamed his name-

“Stanley!”

“Urrn-”

His balls lifted. His cock jumped in you but he kept pounding. You felt every inch of him stroke your inner walls and yelped when he struck gold and hit your G-spot. Your body tensed as you hoped to fight off the orgasm that sank through you. Everything sparked inside and it felt like a fire was raging through your trembling veins.

“S-Stan-” You couldn't even finish his name. You bit down on your own arm to try and cope with the sheer power Stan was now using. Your legs wobbled and the table started to lift off the floor, but Stan kept going.

“Fuck, fuck, I lov-” He cut himself off; deliberately and because it was time.

Stan threw his head back and painted the inside of your cunt white. Cum gushed out of him quickly and filled you completely with liquid heat. You whimpered and shuddered as he throbbed weakly within. He pushed a few more times, but you were both done.

Ripples of the orgasm drifted over you and a part of you wanted to dive back into the waves and do it all again. Then he hugged you from behind.

He was sticky with sweat but it was delightful to have him cradle you again. He panted. “Fuck me, Sweetheart... that was... I don't have the words.” He smiled and kissed your neck, cock still pulsing in you.

Cum was already trickling down your legs as Stan went soft. You turned around so you were chest to chest. He had a lopsided smile and hopelessly jubilant eyes. It was infectious and you kissed Stan tenderly. “Do you really have to set sail in the morning?”

He frowned and stroked a thumb over your cheek. “I'll make sure I come back.”

“You better,” It had been a while since you had sex quite like that. Stanley Pines was quite the man.

The emptiness was very obvious when Stan took his flaccid penis out of you. He pulled his pants up and hobbled around for his shirt. You gathered up your own garments but noticed he couldn't wipe that dumb grin off his face. It was sweet. You wished you had taken him home so you could fall asleep by his side.

He probably snored, but you were willing to put up with it.

Still, it was too late for that now. “I'm just going to clean up,” You said as you staggered to the bathroom with a ball of your clothes.

“Can I have another ale?!” He shouted after you.

“No-” But he was already pouring it. You rolled your eyes fondly.

~*~

After a bit more chatter and a clean up of the table and floor, it was unfortunately time to part ways. You unbolted the door and was greeted by the waves and spray from the sea. Stan took a lungful of the fresh, salty air. He practically glowed when he turned back to you, as though the sea had always been his destiny.

Stan's lips met yours again and you kissed to the song of the roaring tides.

He broke away first and rubbed his big hands up and down your arms. “Thanks toots, tonight isn't one I'm gonna forget.” That was more prominent to him than you knew.

“Same here.”

Stan's fingers drummed against your biceps anxiously. “Hey, er, I- After all this um...” He glanced into your eyes and wore that crooked smile. “It'd be nice to at least know ya name?”

You reached up and ran your fingers through his silver locks. You kissed his lips, then his cheek and whispered your name into his ear.

The smile on his face spread from ear to ear and he held you in his arms tightly, whispering your name under the sounds of the waves.

(Stan wasn't sure he could cope with this just being a one-night stand...)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it! I may add an epilogue to this at some point with Stan and Ford talking about what happened, if that's something any of you are interested in?
> 
> For now, I hope you enjoyed this. I will more than likely be writing more spicy content for Stan (and Ford) for my ongoing reader insert 'Then and Now' (Or even just in general) so if you like this, be sure to keep an eye on me in the future... maybe? :D?
> 
> If you enjoyed this and want more good, sexy writing, I highly recommend Silkystripe's 'A Risk Worth Taking' and Hanako_Cinnamon's 'New Boots and Contracts' series (which has Rick Sanchez involved as well).
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/19155430/chapters/45528259  
> https://archiveofourown.org/series/1485512
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
